


Warm Loops

by WahlBuilder



Series: Scarves and Mittens [19]
Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Candlemass, Fluff, Gen, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Kill-team Talon has a surprise gift for Chyron on Candlemass.





	Warm Loops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatiZza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatiZza/gifts).



> Slightly different from the usual "scarves and mittens" but still very much with the same feeling (and fluffiness).

Chyron rolled away from the debris falling down on him, the stutter of stone chips on his armour like a particularly vengeful rainstorm, and voxed with furious glee, ‘We got the bastards, now they won’t run!’

Suddenly his helm’s display cracked with static: that last blast must have disrupted something… But then the lines of ‘snow’ froze, and everything started blurring.

_‘Shh, shh! Can’t you all keep quiet?’_

_‘Don’t you “shh” me, Raven Guard!’_

_Ah_ , thought Chyron.

His dream was dissolving in the creamy glowing mist of waking, now real static filling his sense one by one: the voices of his friends stuttering and growing sharper by the moment; warmth rolling up his spine that he didn’t have anymore; data streaming onto his optical nerves or perhaps right into his brain, the lines showing routine maintenance checks.

Chyron the Dreadnought was waking up.

Chyron the Lamenter wanted to wave his friends away and curse at them for intruding into his dream, the haughty Ultramarine hissing at Zeed like a cat. Chyron chuckled at himself at the image of Solarion with fluffy white ears and a long tail. Karras would be one of those strange pale hairless cats, with beautiful huge eyes. Max—a squat very fluffy huge cat, a ball of pale orange. Rauth… a thin, scarred thing of unidentifiable breed that looked like it could take on a wolf. Hissy, too. And Zeed he couldn’t imagine as anything but a raven hopping about and happily pulling on the various tails.

‘Brain activity: normal. Connections: normal…’ droned a techpriest somewhere nearby. Well, techpriests were definitely not cats.

_‘Stand still, stand sti—Prophet! Where are you going? Come here!’_

_‘He’s just shy, paper-face, he needs a moment.’_

_‘I am not—’_

+Vox systems: active.+

‘How are you making so much noise?’ Chyron wondered aloud, stretching and opening his eyes—so to speak.

His friends were all here, Zeed in the front. The Raven Guard beamed, coiling his arms around Voss and Karras that were flanking him. ‘Happy Candlemass, Old One!’

Chyron glanced at the chrono in the corner of his display. The Ghost was right. ‘Happy Candlem—’ Chyron stopped. Then stared—at himself. As much as it was possible. Even turned on the feed from the read optics, to check. ‘All right. Somebody explain,’ he demanded.

He was… No, his frame was covered in coils. Loops. Knots. Stitches.

He was _yarned_. The whole frame, from the columns of pedes to—he flexed them—the tips of his claws to the hood of the helm he was covered in loops and stitches of yarn. Even the muzzles of his shoulder cannons were meticulously covered in tiny fluffed loops. It was coloured. A scream of colours—garish yellow and soft white, black trim on the pedes. A giant, slightly crooked heart at the centre of his chassis, fiercely-pink. Zooming in, Chyron saw that the quality of loops was not universal: on his right pede the loops looked as if they had been produced by a machine—perfectly identical. On the left pede, they were uneven, and there were knots and tiny bows, as if the knitter’s hands had torn the thread at those places.

There must have been a lot of balls of yarn spent on all this, and his audio sensors picked the grumbling of the techpriest, but Chyron looked at his claws again—checkered in black and white—and then turned to his friends.

Zeed was grinning so wide his face would need stitching if he didn’t stop soon; Karras was smiling in that soft, shy way that could win even the stonest of hearts. Voss was smirking—and, all right, Chyron thought he knew who had supervised the process of team-knitting. Solarion was frowning, arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks were flushed, though, so he was fooling nobody but himself.

Rauth… Well, he appeared impassive as usual, but then his faze met Chyron’s (metaphorically speaking), and he pulled needles out of the sleeve of his tunic—and winked. Chyron could have sworn he winked, could have sworn it was not just a malfunction of his video feed.

He wished he could scoop up the whole band, but instead he smiled—privately—and spread his servos. ‘Happy Candlemass indeed!’


End file.
